Dangerous Joy (25 page)

With a muttered curse, Miles reached over and unbound Felicity's hands despite her resistance. "Don't forget, I'll stop your escape by any means."

She pressed the handkerchief to her face, fighting her tears. After a moment she gained composure and undid the strap around her legs. Then she tossed the piece of leather into his lap and turned to stare out of the window.

Miles wanted to talk to her, to try to make her see that he had no choice in this, but he didn't know if he had the words. And anyway, he couldn't imagine attempting such a conversation with his embarrassed valet as audience.

Hell and damnation, how had he ever ended up in this predicament?

When they drew close to the next change, he said, "I must rebind you now unless you want to give me your parole."

She turned stony-faced, and held out her wrists. He fastened them, then replaced the gag. He pulled her hood well over her face and placed his arm around her waist, holding her close, wondering if any chance of happiness between them could survive this journey.

She held herself as stiff as a board, and he knew she would take any opportunity to escape. A twisted smile tugged at his lips because he knew this was three-quarters pride. Felicity Monahan would bend her will to no man.

How, then, did she intend to survive life married to Rupert Dunsmore?

For the first time he wondered if she had murder on her mind. He wouldn't put it past her, but it was terrifying. When a man died mysteriously, suspicion turned first to the wife, especially if there were a hint of marital discord. Did she know it was still possible for a woman to be burned for the murder of her husband?

Petty treason, they called it. Little treason. Rebellion against the domestic lord and master.

Chapter Fourteen

As they gathered speed with the new horses, Miles unbound his beloved.

The first thing she said was, "I need to relieve myself."

Miles hadn't thought of that problem. With a full moon, he'd intended to drive straight through if the weather held. The coachman and his assistant could take turns driving.

Of course, he'd planned on occasional stops for ease and refreshment, but then he'd expected Felicity to give in gracefully.

How foolish.

"Give me your parole and we'll stop at the next inn."

"No.

He stared at her. "Damnation, Felicity..."

"No parole, ever. I'd rather soil my gown."

She would, too. That was why he loved the woman to madness even while wanting to wring her neck. He tried to persuade her to see reason, but it was like talking to a marble effigy. In the end, on a deserted stretch of road in Northern Shropshire, he opened the trap and called for the coach to stop.

Felicity watched him warily, and he saw hope and plans flickering through her mind.

"Don't even think about it. We're miles from anywhere. But just to be safe, I'll have your shoes."

She tucked her feet under her skirt. "Be damned if you will!"

"By force if necessary."

"You won't find it easy to overpower me, Miles Cavanagh, without surprise or cooperation."

"But I can do it if I'm ruthless enough. You're not the only one with a will of iron."

She frowned, and he thought he saw the same realization that had struck him-that the very strengths that drew them together were the ones making this battle so fierce.

"Or you can just soil your gown," he added. He was bluffing, but it worked.

With a resentfbl sigh, she unlaced her slippers and tossed them to him. At him, in fact. Then she pulled her skirts up above her knees, untied her garters and slowly rolled off her cotton stockings. "No point in ruining them," she said, positively flaunting her lovely legs, naked up to the thigh.

Oh, she had a fine understanding of her arsenal, did Felicity Monahan.

Hennigan was wisely staring in the opposite direction, but his neck was red.

Holding onto both temper and lust. Miles opened the door and let down the steps. "You can go behind that hedge."

As soon as he was on the ground, however, he realized the road was sharp with frost. He held up his arms. I'll carry you to the grass."

She stayed in the doorway. "I never want you to touch me again." She waited until he lowered his arms and moved out of her way. Then she stepped down and walked gingerly over to the almost-leafless hedge.

Miles checked that his coachman and groom were looking away. He, however, had to keep an eye on his ward, his lover, his torment and delight.

A moment's carelessness and she'd be gone.

The dense tangle of hedge-branches and the dim moonlight gave some privacy, but didn't hide Felicity entirely. He could see that she hadn't taken off barefoot across the rough sheep run.

Unless she'd taken off her dress and hung it there...

A closer look assured him she was still in the gown. He wouldn't put any trick past her, though, and he suspected nothing was beyond her courage, not even running off in her shift.

Ah, but she was a queen among women, was Felicity Monahan, and worthy to wear a crown in Tara. It was a bitter fate that had them enemies in this.

Gardeen appeared in the doorway, whiskers twitching, and leaped down on the same business. But the cat was back before Felicity. He suspected the delay was mostly to annoy him, especially as her feet must be freezing.

Eventually, she emerged to return to the coach. Miles took time to relieve himself, too, then indicated that his men should do the same. When Hennigan returned to the coach, he asked, frozen-faced, whether he could ride in the uncomfortable trundle seat at the back. Miles agreed, though he felt he should probably tie Felicity up and make her travel there. It was her stubbornness that was causing all the trouble.

When all was settled, Miles climbed into the coach, taking the backward seat now there were only two of them inside. He'd give her as much relief from his presence as he could. She'd put her shoes and stocking back on, he noticed, and didn't appear to have suffered frostbite.

This was such a damned ridiculous affair.

After a while, he decided they'd have to stop for food. His coachmen, at least, needed to eat for strength.

Who'd ever have thought kidnapping to be so tricky?

He looked at Felicity. "Are you hungry?"

"Not hungry enough." Though she'd deigned to reply, she was back to her representation of a marble effigy.

"Faith, and have you thought of making your living striking attitudes, Miss Monahan? You could do resentment remarkably well, indeed you could."

Her lips tightened, but she made no response. He dearly missed the time when she would at least have returned fire.

"Felicity, I am not the enemy. You are going to have to learn to trust—"

She came to life at that. "Trust you! I fell asleep in your arms, Miles Cavanagh, and awoke a prisoner! Is it surprising that I don't trust you?"

He winced. "It wasn't planned—"

"Planned or not, I am here where I have no wish to be, threatened with violence if I object."

There was no reasoning with her, and the devil of it was that in her position, he'd feel much the same way. "I'm going to stop at the next inn to give the men a chance to eat. You can spend the time sitting by the fire eating your dinner, or trussed up in here."

She turned to stare out of the window. "Trussed."

He ran his hands through his hair in exasperation. "Felicity, it is not a sin to bend before force majeur."

She looked at him then, a direct and honest look. "You're too tricksy for me, Miles Cavanagh. I'll give you no rope at all."

He understood then, a little, for he felt exactly the same way. It would be so easy for either of them to use their attraction as a Weapon.

It was dark in the coach, for they'd lit no lamp. A darkness which brought out secrets and soul-talk.

"No tricks. Felicity," Miles said gently. "I meant what I said and no more. I intend to get you to Melton and hold you there. Nothing beyond that."

"It doesn't matter what you intend, or even what you do. The trickery comes just from your being you."

"You mean you love me."

She turned away again. "I can't love the man who betrayed my trust."

"Then let's say that you are moved by me."

She gave a short, bitter laugh. "To exasperation. To fury."

"To emotions other than that, Felicity. Can we not be honest, at least?"

He thought perhaps she sighed. Softly, she said `I could love you if it were possible."

He wanted quite desperately to take her in his arms. "Is love under such control?"

"I think so. Would you let yourself love a friend's wife, for example?"

"No. I would let myself love no man's wife."

"Then," she said with shocking crispness, "think of me as Rupert Dunsmore's wife."

"Never!"

A stray moonbeam turned her gaze cat-like. "It was to him I gave my virginity, you know."

He'd guessed, but he didn't like it any the better when spoken. "He stole it, you mean."

"He did not. I was embarrassingly eager."

Miles felt his teeth grind together. "He had no right to take what you offered."

"Faith, are you a believer in chastity for men as well as women?"

Miles hastily steered back to the main path before she tied him in knots entirely. "If Dunsmore was your first lover, he wasn't much of one."

She turned away, as if uninterested. "He seemed exciting enough at the time."

"And have there been others?"

She stiffened. "I don't have to answer that."

"True enough." He studied her averted face. "But I don't think there have been others. Even were you inclined to promiscuity, there aren't many suitable men around Foy, and even fewer who'd risk fooling around with the likes of you. And you've not led a wandering life."

"I never even found a private piano until you provided it." She tilted her head slyly toward him. "A piano and some wondrous loving. I should be your slave, shouldn't I?"

"None of that was calculated. None of it."

"You didn't deny the hope of getting me with child."

"After the fact. Believe me."

"I'm not sure I can. You've broken faith with me, Miles, and perhaps it can't be mended."

Miles cursed his mother and her plan, even though he couldn't see an alternative. He could have woken Felicity and explained the situation, then made a straight-out fight of getting her on board ship.

Despite the resulting bloodshed, it might have been a more honest way. But he knew it was the night of pleasure before the trick that really wounded her, and he would not have missed that.

They rode in silence until the coach began to slow to enter the town of Leek. "Trussed or not?" he asked wearily.

She laughed, though it cut the air like a sword. "Faith, Miles Cavanagh, but you're as blind stubborn as I am!"

"Well matched, are we?"

"Oh, very. Have you ever seen two equal fighting cocks duel to the death?"

Then she held out her hands to be bound.

Though he hated every moment of it, Miles bound and gagged her, then opened the hatch to speak to his coachman. "You, O'Grady, and Hennigan can go into the inn and eat. We'll stay here. Bring a basket of food when you leave." Then he rolled down the blinds and gathered Felicity into his arms, prepared for anything.

It was a long half-hour, but Felicity made no move to resist or escape. Miles didn't feel free to speak, for when she could neither block his words nor reply, that would be unfair.

Miles wondered if she was finding the same bitter comfort at being in his arms as he felt at having her there. Or the same frustration. He was strongly tempted to shift his hands, to make the confining hold a different kind of embrace.

He restrained himself, thank God. That, too, would be a gross abuse of the situation.

He had two separate roles here-guardian and lover-and must never confuse them. This bondage was to keep Felicity safe, to protect her against herself. He would be as base as Dunsmore if he took advantage of it.

At last the door opened and, head averted, Hennigan gingerly placed a basket of food and a bottle of wine on the floor. Miles wondered if the valet would tender his resignation at the end of this journey.

He kept a firm hold of Felicity until they were out of town and picking up speed. Only then did he let her go, untie her, and light the lamps so they could investigate the basket.

Gardeen miaowed, and so he fed the cat some pieces of salmon. Then he simply invited Felicity to help herself as he opened the wine. He was sure she'd enjoy the grand gesture of refusing to eat but, as on board ship, she was strictly practical and took enough food to preserve her strength.

He poured the burgundy into the two glasses and passed her one, watchful that she didn't throw it in his face. She sipped appreciatively, though. "An excellent vintage. You get good service."